


One for Luck

by bilbroswaggins



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilbroswaggins/pseuds/bilbroswaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a respected lawyer from a sleepy town in western England, although relatively successful in the company of farmers and the elderly, Bilbo can't help but feel somewhat out of place. Even growing up as he did, spending much of his time with his good friends Primula Brandybuck and Hamfast Gamgee; Bilbo realized that there was always something left to be desired in his life. Bilbo was loosing his grip on the reigns of his existence, and found himself slowly taking a backseat to the world around him. When he stumbles down a hole in his garden, Bilbo wakes to a strange new place with unnerving characters who expose him to the evils of the creatures that hunt them down, and teach him the value of home. Amongst these people is their leader Thorin Oakenshield, who is reclusive and mysterious and stirs strong feelings deep within Bilbo. Feelings Bilbo is determined to avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One for Luck

Catching Lobelia Sackville-Baggins in the schoolyard was mildly pleasurable to Bilbo, and watching his cousin fall face-first to the dirt over his shin was even more so. 

“You tripped me!” Lobelia cried, pointing a chubby, accusatory little finger at him, still sitting in the dirt; her face was crumpled and ugly looking, like a greek mask. With her other hand, Lobelia wiped the snot away from her pinched, little nose-- a nose that Bibo thought made her look rather like a rat. 

“No, I didn’t!” cried Bilbo, mimicking Lobelia’s high-pitched tone. “It was the tree, witless.” He called her a name he wasn’t supposed to call her anymore, and Bilbo danced around Lobelia evasively, avoiding tripping himself over the sprawl of roots of the grand, solitary oak tree she had fallen beside. Bilbo was light on his feet and having far too much fun to want to stop anytime soon when Hamfast came up behind him. 

Hamfast Gamgee was a curiosity. He was shoeless and taller than Bilbo by nearly a foot and a half despite being in his grade; seemingly to counter his enormous height, he had snow white hair that stuck to his head like duckfluff, which made him look younger than he actually was. Hamfast had to repeat the third grade three times now, as his father kept on yanking him and his brothers out of school to do work. 

“Let her be, Mr. Baggins. You’re bigger n’ she is,” Hamfast told him, shaking his head minisculy as if disappointed-- ever harboring the low-key, saintlier-than-thou attitude that made Bilbo want to asphyxiate him. “That, and she’s your damned flesh and blood...” he said it simply-- as if Bilbo wasn’t painstakingly aware of the situation. 

With the sun shining on his back, Bilbo blew air quick out of his nose and shot Hamfast a sour glare that seemed too big for him, too big for the schoolyard that he played in. 

“Oh, bugger off, Hamfast! She's as old as you, and a nasty little thing at that.” Bilbo was ready to turn and shove Lobelia’s red face under his heel when he saw that she had run off, her skirts tucked up her backside and he imagined on the verge of another fit of angry wailing-- which would be the second one this very week. She nearly did trip over a root on her way out, and Bilbo would have laughed had Hamfast still not been there. 

When Lobelia was safely out of range Bilbo turned: “Damn, you let her get away!” he said, his voice flooded with indignant anger which he did not so much feel as wanted to annoy with. 

Hamfast looked about ready to say another thing when Prim ran up behind him, and he stopped abruptly, inching towards Bilbo with a look on his face that almost resembled terror. Bilbo shot him a glance, which was partly knowing and partly mocking. 

“There goes the meanest thing God ever blew breath into,” Prim said of Lobelia, she was slightly out of breath from running after Bilbo and red-faced. “Good you got her this time, Bilbo.” she said, smiling a smile that Bilbo thought could grow flowers in the spring. 

Primula Brandybuck might as well be Bilbo’s favourite person in the world. She was clever and very brave, as he had never known her once to back down from a good dare; she remained firmly on his side despite good judgement and she hated Lobelia, that tyrant, almost as much as he did. She was a pretty little thing, too. Blonde hair and blue eyes, with a multitude of freckles which made her skin look like the stars kissing the night sky. 

Bilbo smiled at her sweetly, and he was aware of the hilarity that beside him, Hamfast had begun to sweat. Hamfast had his eyes on the ground below, seemingly starting to count every yellowed, September grass. 

“Hello, Prim.” That was Hamfast, who adorned a rather striking shade of crimson on his cheeks and a smile on his face that looked almost as if it hurt; he plucked at his suspenders nervously, an annoying habit that he, as most of his family, hadn’t thought it yet time to break from. He almost met Prim’s gaze. 

“Hello, Hamfast!” Prim addressed him cheerily, seemingly just noticing that he was there-- quiet little bugger that he was. Bilbo could almost feel bad for him. 

“Hello,” Hamfast said again. Bilbo rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t say hello to the damned devil--” Bilbo said loudly, eyeing Hamfast nastily on the sly before Prim could respond. 

“Devil?” Hamfast asked stupidly, his mouth agape with incredulity. 

Bilbo nodded, “Devil in Sunday’s best!” he told Hamfast, echoing a saying he had heard once or twice before, before turning back to Prim and continuing: “A devil that distracted me before I could shoot my game, you know.” 

“Why?” Prim asked, Bilbo was going to answer: ‘Because he’s downright dumb.’ when Hamfast piped up again. 

“It was a horrible, mean thing, what Mr. Baggins was doin’ to poor Lobelia.” he said, before puffing out his chest miserably and continuing: “I had to stop him-- for my pride.” 

“She deserved every minute of it!” Bilbo cursed, displeasured, and pricked up on indignation like a porcupine. “And you, Hamfast,” He jutted his index out at him, “don’t have any pride to spare for Lobelia. You’re gentle as a lamb, and couldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to.” 

Hamfast looked annoyed, but overall dejected. And beautiful Primula, with all her good qualities which Bilbo simply loved, had many bad qualities which Bilbo did not so much love as avoided distastefully and at all costs. God never made women perfect, Bilbo’s father would say, and Bilbo, before sludging to the end of the third grade, could agree wholeheartedly. Prim had certain traits that irritated Bilbo to no end-- chief among them being valiantness and the tendency to speak up for those under thumb. 

“Oh, hush up, Bilbo! Hamfast was just doin’ what he believes is right. Just like you--” She seemed to take in the state of Hamfast all at once and gasped, changing subject swiftly. “Have you had any lunch today?” she inquired incredulously. 

Bilbo grumbled unintelligibly; of course Hamfast hadn’t had any lunch, his father hadn’t sent him or his brothers to school with a bite to eat in a long while. And Hamfast did indeed look like he hadn't eaten since school started-- like he’d been raised on nothing but fish food; his eyes, a cow-brown like his father’s, were red-rimmed and watery. 

“No, he hasn’t eaten. He’s a gardener.” Bilbo supplied grumpily. He knew that his precious noon time was ticking away. 

Hamfast looked irritated that Bilbo answered for him, but remained silent. 

Prim seemed to mull this over for a minute before an idea hit her like a crack of lightning and she told Hamfast excitedly: “Oh, please come over to Bilbo’s tonight for supper! His da lets me eat with him on Wednesdays, you could come too!” 

“What?” exclaimed Hamfast, who casted Bilbo an alarmed glance while Bilbo was too busy picking at his brain frantically for a reason why Primula thought she could invite guests over to his house, especially ones as dirty as Hamfast-- then it hit him, she was Prim, wasn’t she? No boundaries. 

It also hit Bilbo that he had, at some point, established boundaries between him and Prim-- he sighed and kicked at the tree halfheartedly. 

“Yeah! Why not? You look as hungry as a lion.” she said. 

That made Hamfast laugh a bit, his face brightening. And Bilbo sunk deeper into his melancholy. 

“Maybe…” allowed Hamfast, finally. And Bilbo panicked. 

“He can’t come!” Bilbo shouted, his eyes shifting nervously between Hamfast and Primula-- that dirty traitor. 

“Why not?” stressed Prim, fixing Bilbo her steady gaze which was darkening by the moment with an anger and intelligence that bellied her youth. 

“Well-- because...” Bilbo trailed off weakly. He had shuffled over to the oak tree and scratched at the thick bark waspishly. When he got bored of that, he kicked at an acorn. 

Prim rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up, Miss. Priss.” Prim said to Bilbo, which did, effectively, shut Bilbo up. “You don’t want him there because you're afraid he’d dirty up your polished seats. I’d tell you that your good father wouldn’t give a damn that Hamfast’d be there, I’d say he’d be happy to have him! You’re just a nasty little boy, aren’t you, Bilbo?” 

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something stupid when he was conveniently saved by the bell; Bilbo felt bad that he’d been scolded, mumbled that he was sorry and retired mediating upon his crime. He went to class miserable and alone and he caught sight of Lobelia and blew her a raspberry across the classroom. 

 

Hamfast did come for dinner that Wednesday night, and many, many Wednesday nights afterwards. Bilbo found that the gardener had a remarkable sense of humour, and underneath his shyness was very witty with a wicked tendency towards derision-- which was right fine with Bilbo although it could along with Bilbo’s silly jibes accumulatively get on the nerves of Primula and she would snap at them both-- 

Which was also amusing in its own right. 

As summertime rolled along, and chased away the remainder of spring, they entered the oncoming days as a trio of friends and Bilbo felt almost happy, a feeling that he hadn’t allowed himself since March. 

But it was the first day of summer and the authorities had released them early from school-- and they were too tired to do anything at all. 

Prim sat on a boulder resting precariously on the root of a tree, she kicked haughtily at the pebbles underneath her feet and Hamfast sat in the dirt next to her, biting his lip. 

“Come on...” Bilbo implored, “It would be fun.” 

Hamfast shook his head, and Primula piped up suddenly, “One of us could get hurt!” 

Bilbo giggled, “And isn’t that the beauty of it?” 

Hamfast rolled his eyes and Prim said, “That’s not funny.” 

It was wickedly hot out, the sun was frying like an egg in the cloudless sky and the trio had clustered under the spreading tops of oak, chestnut and willow trees that had converged to create a canopy of shade above them. The sunshine streamed down through the leaves in intermittent bursts of light, creating a puddle of yellow every few steps, and Bilbo was sweating despite the shade. Shreds of nut shells fell around them softly, and Bilbo could tell that the heat had drained the energy out of all of them-- he resisted it. 

“Please, Prim!” begged Bilbo, his voice booming among the oaks. “Hamfast…” 

Primula and Hamfast shared a look. And Prim looked away from the gardener shortly, seemingly peeved, as if Hamfast had arbitrated and come to a decision she didn’t agree with-- which very likely he had, as was his wont. 

Hamfast sighed loudly, “I suppose, Mr. Baggins…” he said. 

Bilbo hopped up in place, clapping his hands twice in delight. “Yes, Hamfast! It will be great, I promise.” he said. 

Hamfast looked at Bilbo as if he knew he was lying, but in silent acquiescence, he rose to his feet and shambled out of the shade and down the hill, out of sight. 

Bilbo grinned, having got his way, and picked up a long stick from the ground, he sat next to Prim and started drawing figures in the dirt. Bilbo held off only a moment before abandoning his sketches and turning to embrace Prim softly. When Prim broke away, too soon, and looked at Bilbo, something queer and displeased wriggled in her look; but all Bilbo cared to noticed was that her eyes looked alive in the afternoon light and that she was capable of stealing his very breath away. 

“I love you, Prim.” he said, and Bilbo was, at the moment, the oldest he’s ever been. He knew that he must love her, because his stomach shrunk to the size of a marble when he saw Prim drop her gaze. 

Prim was quiet for a moment, “I’m sorry for you, Bilbo.” 

Not the answer he had been hoping for. Bilbo though it was not fair that he had to be the cause of the sadness that flooded Prim’s features. 

Bilbo shook his head, “I don’t want your sorry’s.” he said. 

Prim, in turn, nodded her head. “It ain’t fair.” she said. 

“Not an inch of fair.” Bilbo agreed. His chest hurt, and Bilbo kneaded his little fist into the dip in his breast where it ached. 

Bilbo’s father had acquired smallpox just after the snow had melted in the spring, and died little under a fortnight later. Bilbo missed him terribly, but he knew when it was time to be sad, and when it wasn’t. 

He turned to Prim with a grin plastered on his face, “Madam, would you care to dance with me?” he asked. 

Primula looked at him as if he’d just sprouted two heads, “What now? Bilbo-- There’s no music.” 

“Ahh, but there is…” He smiled and yanked her to her feet, hearing her ‘oof’ and hearing her laugh. “Listen,” he hushed her, “Do you hear it?”

She shook her head at first-- no. 

Bilbo urged her, “Really listen.” 

It was the silence of the world, a thousand colours in a parched landscape-- the leaves shifting and brushing against each other like wind chimes, the treehouse they had built summers ago, nestled in between two trees. It was the scurrying of a squirrel through the gnarled limbs of oak. It was the sound Bilbo’s old boots made, too small for his feet now, as they scuffed at the dirt. 

Bilbo swayed with Prim to the noise, albeit ungracefully, and he tried his best to woo her. 

Prim’s eyes were inches above Bilbo’s head, and she had to look down when she spoke to him, “I hear it.” she said. Sunshine slid from behind her head and outlined her in a subtle halo of pale gold, illuminating the dust motes that trickled by. Bilbo knew he wanted to kiss her, more than anything he wanted to kiss her. 

“Do you think of home?” she asked. 

At some point, Bilbo had gotten to thinking that he hadn’t had a home anymore. The recent death of his father had left him orphaned, as his mother had died many years ago during childbirth. The one home he could consider, well-- it was not really a home at all, was it? 

Bilbo had moved in temporarily with the Sackville-Baggins’ in the late of spring, and had grown to hate every minute of it-- Bag End, his childhood home, remained empty until Bilbo would be old enough to move in himself. 

It was sad that the only home Bilbo would know for years to come was only to hope. 

“Sometimes,” he answered, finally. “That’s what I’ve got to do, isn’t it? Think of home.”

Prim sniffled, “I think I could cry.” 

Another downfall of Primula, unfortunately, was that she was a massive crybaby. 

“Don’t be such a girl, Prim. And it doesn’t matter because I’m going to go back there,” Bilbo hardened, and they had stopped dancing at some point. His eyes scanned over the rolling hills before resting gently on Bag End, established just at the base of the little wooded rise they were on. It had become Bilbo’s wont to travel here any chance he got, dragging Prim and Hamfast along with him often. The house glinted endearingly in the light and he tried to imagine his mother’s face, somewhere, gleaming in the wood. 

“I’m gonna go home just as soon as I’m old enough-- I’m not gonna let anyone take it from me.” he said. 

Prim smiled, and looked off as well. Bilbo supposed they made a curious bunch of kids. “I believe you,” she said. 

Hamfast came back up, Prim and Bilbo hearing him a ways before they saw him, shuffling up the hill and huffing loudly like a dog. He rolled an enormous black tire underneath the press of his palms, an old tire he had acquired from the shed down the hill, the opposite ways from where they were facing. Primula and Bilbo both scrambled away from each other and turned to Hamfast, Bilbo ecstatic and Primula-- probably more dismayed. 

“I got it--” Hamfast hiccoughed, dropping the tire at their feet. He seemed faint, and lifted a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. 

Bilbo laughed at him, before settling his greedy little eyes on the tire. “You did good, Hamfast. Now take a break. If you die today, we’ll miss you.” he said. Bilbo owed Hamfast a enormous, tire-sized chunk of good fun and it wouldn’t suit him if the gardener passed away at present time-- before summer really even started. 

Hamfast complied easily enough, sitting on the vacated boulder with a dry, “Don’t you joke on me, Bilbo, I might still die… Any day now.” he laughed, then sighed loudly to boot.

Bilbo thought Hamfast was far too cynical to be a gardener. 

Bilbo righted the tire with a grunt, the thing was much heavier than he expected it to be, and he patted the roof of it twice, slightly winded. “Alright, get on in.” he said to Prim. 

Primula looked as if at any moment her eyes would roll right out of her skull. 

“It’s a joke,” she said. “Baggins, tell me you’re just joking with me.”

“Am not,” he said, Bilbo patted the tire again, dust exploding then resettling under his palm. “Only you will fit!” 

“That’s a lie! Look at the size of that thing! Hamfast could fit!” 

There was only a muffled groan from behind them in protest to that statement. 

“I want you to go in, though.” Bilbo whined. 

“You just want to push me down that hill there and watch me throw up lunch. You’re sick, Mr. Baggins.” she accused. “Sick!” 

Bilbo stuck out his tongue, then laughed, “You’re such a girl, it’s mortifying. Fine! Prissy Primula, I’ll do as you say.” 

Prim held the tire in place as Bilbo folded himself inside. 

“Hamfast!” Bilbo called, “Get me a push!” 

Hamfast whined low, “I don’t think I can get to my feet.” 

“Hamfast!” Bilbo shouted back at him. 

“Fine,” Hamfast grumbled, “but if I try to get up right now, I might pass out, and Prim is gonna have’ta lift me like a sack of bones over her shoulder then fling my body just right to push your silly tire, Mr. Baggins. That’d get her movin’, if you want it so bad.” 

Bilbo tried to get a glimpse of Hamfast from his position, and failed. Disbelieving, Bilbo murmured, “I’ll just get myself down the hill then!” Inspired suddenly by his lack of friends who actually care, Bilbo furiously rocked himself back and forth, trying to get the tire to roll down the hill. As if to prove his lack of worth, Bilbo could not despite his best efforts get the heavy tire to move more than an inch without fear of it falling over. 

“Damn!” he cursed, and a shred of nut gently landed on his nose; he sneezed. 

“You’re ridiculous,” said Prim, “I’ll give you a push.”

Until it happened Bilbo hadn’t realized the depth of his offence towards Primula, and that she was patiently waiting an opportunity to get him back. She did, by pushing the tire down the hill with all the force of her body. Ground, sky and trees melted into a mad palette, and Bilbo’s head throbbed viciously. Bilbo could not haul a snip of air into his lungs and he couldn’t get his hands out to stop himself from the position they were in-- wedged between his chest and knees. He could only hope that Prim would outrun the tire and catch him or that he would be stopped by a bump on the way. He heard Prim running after him and shouting she was sorry repeatedly. 

On the way down Bilbo shouted back at Primula, “Traitor!” and, “Judas!” with all the vehement he could summon from such a small body, he yelled until he was sure his voice had faded to not but a whisper down the hill and that she could no longer hear him. 

The tire bumped on a root, skeetered halfways into a field, and came crashing into a rock, which sent Bilbo popping out like a cork into the mud. Dazed and nauseated, Bilbo shook his head still. Distantly, he heard Prim and Hamfast shouting: “Bilbo, where are you?” 

Bilbo was going to yell back but he felt that if he opened his mouth he’d lose his lunch, so he remained quiet and hoped his friends would find him soon. 

The sun beat down on the back of his head, and Bilbo lifted his face, thawing. He realized he had landed somewhere in the stretch of field behind Bag End, stalked with long, yellow grass and a multitude of mice which he remembered he used to like to try and catch when he would visit. Bilbo had explored the place many times before with Prim in the Post-Hamfast age, and he felt something akin to nostalgia being there again, although it couldn’t have been more than a summer ago that he’d last seen the place. 

The play of light through the grass reminded Bilbo vaguely of the windchimes his aunt use to set up on her front porch, catching the sun in it shards and redirecting it in short bursts of light, this way and that. 

It was then that Bilbo noticed something curious sticking out of the mud, something grey. He thought at first that it was a dead rat, and he recoiled, but then upon a second look-- he realized it was something else entirely. 

When Bilbo was able to navigate, he moved forward on all fours, trembling slightly. He dusted away the dirt from the stone with his palm, the stone which he realized was more like a tile, glinted freshly under the sun. 

“What are you?” murmured Bilbo. 

It had words scrawled on it. In thin, chicken-scratch writing the tile read: “An Adventure.” quite simply, but it made no sense at all. Bilbo considered it a gravestone, but he wondered who would name a little baby that? And who had died and been buried behind his family’s house? 

Bilbo smiled in curiosity. He pushed down on the tile, and to his sudden horror, the tile started to give way beneath him. 

Bilbo hadn’t known what he’d been expecting. But it certainly wasn’t that. He fell back, his throat working on a silent cry and his tailbone brushing dangerously close to a massive root, and he caught himself on his hands unsteadily. 

It must have been a full minute before Bilbo had gathered enough wits to get up again. When he did, and when he crawled back over to the tile, it was with prudence bordering on dismay. 

The tile was as it was before, and for a moment, Bilbo wondered if he had imagined it all. He kneeled back in the dirt, and placed himself so he could push down with his hands, but he would not fall in if the tile did in fact decide to budge. 

Bilbo pushed-- but it wasn’t hard enough. He pushed with all the force of his frustration, and suddenly he felt as much as heard the stone shift before him, slowly; and from behind the edge of the tile peaked a darkness so black it seemed almost existential. Bilbo released his hold on it suddenly, in shock, and the darkness winked out of existence as the tile slid back into place, as if it hadn’t been there at all. 

It was then that Prim and Hamfast appeared out of the clearing of trees, walking slowly through the path of grass that Bilbo had flattened with his tire. Primula saw him first and ran to Bilbo’s side in the space of a blink, hugging him tightly around his neck. If her expression hadn’t been so relieved, Bilbo would’ve thought Prim was wringing him for getting away from her. 

Hamfast stood nearby, sweating and pale with worry. Bilbo became aware of the heat of the sun, and he sighed. 

“Let’s get inside,” Bilbo suggested, “I’m hot and I want lemonade.” 

Primula released him finally and brightened, “Come to my house!” she turned to Hamfast, “My mother makes the best treats.” she said. 

Mirabella Brandybuck did, in fact, make the best treats. And Bilbo watched the two of them shuffle off in the direction of Primula’s place, chatting away, and before he left to join them Bilbo got to his feet and scuffed some dirt onto the tile to hide it again. 

“I’ll be back for you.” he whispered, glancing at it a moment before running off to catch up with Prim and Hamfast, knocking Hamfast on the shoulder when he got there and laughing brightly.

Because they should be happy-- it was summertime, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> And so ends the first chapter! I kinda have a weakness for little baby Bilbo so I thought I might as well include it in this fanfiction as a backstory of sorts? Not sure, I just went for it. You may ask why Bilbo was such a dick of a child, and who honestly who knows! He was just terrible! I promise that he becomes a better person with age, really, you’ll love him. I realize I played around with the ages a bit, ignore that if you can, please. It was really hard to get the characters I wanted all at the right time, so I totally cheated. Also, I should probably mention that in this story, there is no relation between Primula and Bilbo. Incest is not cool. Next chapter, Bilbo grows up and takes back Bag End and morphs into that doily sucking great aunt that everybody hates but wants to fuck, also Thorin and Bilbo meet, so there's hope for this thing yet. 
> 
> This is my first fanfiction that I’m posting and it would be really appreciated if you would comment your thoughts! Thanks so much!!


End file.
